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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834356">to brighten up (even your darkest night)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phis_corner/pseuds/phis_corner'>phis_corner</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>dc [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>6+1, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parent David Cain, Cass is doing her best to fight her siblings' emotional constipation, Gen, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nightmares, Poetry, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Trauma, and cuddle piles :D, fuck you dc let the batkids be happy 2k21, given that it is a stupid ass canon, however, i honestly cannot believe i forgot to add that, i recognize that dc has declared a bunch of stuff canon, i say as i whump them, i've elected to ignore it, lots of trauma, whew that's a lot of tags already, wow this is like the first time I've had to add the happy ending part on</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:27:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,501</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834356</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phis_corner/pseuds/phis_corner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>six times Cass is there for her siblings, and one time they're there for her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cassandra Cain &amp; Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain &amp; Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain &amp; Duke Thomas, Cassandra Cain &amp; Her Siblings, Cassandra Cain &amp; Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain &amp; Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain &amp; Tim Drake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>dc [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to brighten up (even your darkest night)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallyAHuman/gifts">TotallyAHuman</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Mothy, as part of the late holiday gift exchange :D</p>
<p>I'm not the best at writing hurt/comfort because I can't actually write the comfort part, but I tried haha</p>
<p>Also, this was barely proofread, so just let me know if you find any errors and I'll fix them dfkdlkjf</p>
<p>Special thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperSoniRoni/pseuds/PepperSoniRoni%22">PepperSoniRoni</a> for sending me the equivalent of a medium-length essay on all the different ways I could write Duke hurt/comfort and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavageNutella46/pseuds/SavageNutella46">SavageNutella46</a> for beta-reading the Damian bit!!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>I: Dick</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dawn is bright and early, and Cass rises with the sun, slipping out of bed and stretching her limbs, taking a moment to admire the golden light that filters into her room through the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She enters the gym for her morning workout and finds Dick already there, pounding a punching bag with his bare, unwrapped fists and showing no signs of stopping, despite the blood that already drips from them. He has to have been here for quite a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick is lost in his own head, his own memories, body screaming with so much emotion and pain and distress, that he doesn’t even notice when she enters the room, not until she’s crossed it and grabbed his wrists with both hands, stopping him from throwing another punch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blue eyes, rimmed with red, finally focus on her, taking in her presence, and Dick’s body language shifts, trying to seem relaxed, happy, but Cass knows better. She can see the hurt, the tension in his frame even when he tries to hide.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows that Dick has been through much more than he lets on, and that he would probably never tell them the full extent. He spends every day pretending to be alright, being the rock for the raging seas that are their emotions, and spends his nights alone as he deals with his own demons. It sends an ache through her chest, because no one else seems to notice just how much he hides from them. She does her best to help him, whenever she can, but she cannot force him to tell them his worst memories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Cass,” Dick grins at her, though they both know it’s fake. “Fancy seeing you here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass gives him a flat look as she steers him away from the punching bag and towards where she knows Alfred has medical supplies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am here every morning,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she signs, letting go of one of his wrists to sign with one hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick laughs, though it has no life. “Right. Yeah. My bad.” Cass presses her lips together a little bit harder, pressing gauze firmly to his knuckles to stop the bleeding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” She asks, and that simple word asks such a deep question. Why does Dick try to deal with everything on his own, why won’t he open up to them when he’s guided all of them over the years with gentle hands and encouraging words, teaching them that the weight of their pasts are lighter when they are shared with others?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gives her a rueful smile. “I was never good at following directions.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not a good answer, not by a long shot, but Cass accepts it for now as she carefully wraps bandages around his hands now that the bleeding has stopped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dick</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she signs, fingerspelling the letter D before smoothly transitioning into the sign for ‘robin’. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If you ever need someone, I am always here.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cannot make him tell her what he had gone through, but she can show him that whenever his monsters come out of hiding, he can always come to her, and she’ll always do her best to help him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you, Cass,</span>
  </em>
  <span> He signs back with his newly bandaged hands, the weight that his body always seems to carry lightening just a little, but that makes all the difference.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass smiles and leans over, brushing her lips against his forehead. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Love you, brother.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <b>II: Jason</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Black Bat slips in through the window of Jason’s current safehouse, having disabled all his security measures, and silently pads towards his kitchen table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She means to just leave the flash drive and case file with a smiley face drawn on a sticky note, but then she hears the screaming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her first instinct is to fight, her body immediately preparing for battle as she moves towards the screaming, but when she opens the door to the bedroom, there is no enemy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, no physical enemy, anyway. The true enemy is Jason’s mind, trapping him in his own memories, making him relive his worst experiences.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s tossing and turning, clawing at his blankets like they’re suffocating him, and the screaming feels like a dagger in her gut as she realizes that every inch of his body is pleading </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, please, let me out, let me out-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Black Bat is there in an instant, untangling his limbs from the sheets with one swift yank, dodging the stray hand that nearly smacks her in the face, and carefully running gentle fingers through his hair, humming a wordless tune underneath her breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly but surely, Jason stills, his breathing evening out and the furrow in his eyebrows smoothing out again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, his green eyes fly open, having finally registered her presence, and Black Bat ducks as a knife goes whizzing past her head and embeds itself in the wall behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason’s eyes widen when he registers who it is. “Cass?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nightmare,” She replies. “Trapped. Help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now that he knows she is not an intruder, the adrenaline pumping through Jason’s body fades, and he slumps, the fight draining out of him and leaving a tired young man whose dreams are always haunted by his memories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As usual,” Jason mutters, and Black Bat peels off her mask so she can look him in the eyes, reaching forward to settle a gloved hand on his, which is still cold and clammy from the nightmare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Little brother,” She says slowly, carefully, making sure to clearly articulate every syllable. “You need someone, I am here. Always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason says nothing, green eyes looking in the direction of  her hand on top of his own, but thoughts far across the ocean, in the remains of a warehouse in Ethiopia.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass grabs the edge of the blanket and wraps it around him, loose enough to keep him from feeling trapped but still tight enough to retain heat, and gently pushes Jason back down onto the bed. “Sleep now, little brother. I will be here when you wake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason closes his eyes as Cass resumes running her fingers through his hair and humming a melody with no words, and when he wakes up the next morning on his own and not because of a nightmare, she is still there.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <b>III: Steph</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There had been a breakout from Belle Reve. Cluemaster was among those who escaped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had him back behind bars within the day, but a quick arrest was not a dam that could hold back the flood of emotions that were dredged up with the initial breakout, so Cass isn’t really surprised when Steph turns up in her room at the Manor, sitting on her bed with two cartons of ice cream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t say a word, simply taking the unopened ice cream carton and sits down on the bed next to her, falling into a routine that they’ve both performed countless times now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dear ol’Dad never should have taught me to solve puzzles,” Steph mumbles around another bite of Rocky Road ice cream, the spoon hanging from her mouth. “Always wanted me to go and help him. That didn’t work out so well, did it?” She laughs, but it’s short and empty. Hollow..</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass nods, taking a small bite of her own carton of vanilla. She knows Steph just needs to get it out of her system, with the recent events, so she stays quiet (a specialty of hers) and lets the other girl speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When I was little, he taught me to put together clues, decipher code, solve master-level sudoku puzzles, all that fun stuff. And then I put together the clues and found out how he was getting us money,” Steph waves the spoon aimlessly as she speaks, gesturing at thin air. “He used to be so proud when I solved them. And then he wasn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass knows the feeling. The elation, when she did something that brought a rare smile to his face, back when those were genuine. The desperation to do better, to be better, the best, even, just to gain just the slightest bit of approval.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pain, when she didn’t meet his standards, when she failed, when she tried for the first time to imitate the noises that sometimes came out of the others’ mouths.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dads are shit,” Cass says decisively, before stuffing another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, letting the flavor burst on her tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows it is the right thing to say, because Steph smiles, and everything in her posture declares that it is genuine. “Yeah. Yeah, they are. Who needs ‘em anyways? All they do is say that we’re not good enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass thinks back, back to all the times he brought pain, so much pain, because she failed, and then remembers the feeling she gets every time she saves someone on patrol. “They say we’re not good enough,” She says, careful to properly enunciate every syllable, the way he never taught her. “But they are wrong. We are better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steph grins, leaning over to steal a spoonful of Cass’ ice cream. “That we are.”</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <b>IV: Tim</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is not uncommon to find Tim still awake when the rest of the household has gone quiet, in the early hours of the morning after the night shift has finished patrol and the day shift has not started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is less common to find Tim sitting on the roof of the Manor, hugging his knees to his chest as he looks in the direction of Drake Manor, his old home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps he is watching the sunrise. Cass does not know, for they are both in the same direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of the 3.5 million children in this country who were the subject of an investigation or alternative response over the past year, 678,000 were determined to be victims of maltreatment,” Tim says tonelessly, blue eyes fixed on some point that Cass cannot determine. “Out of that 678,000, 60.8 percent of victims were neglected, 10.7 percent were physically abused and 7.0 percent were sexually abused.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve read the reports,” He suddenly turns around, sharp eyes piercing her as she meets his gaze, unblinking. “I’ve read the firsthand accounts and the witness statements and the psychological evaluations and I know the impact of physical and sexual abuse can have on a child.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are some who say that the children who only suffer neglect are the lucky ones. But I don’t feel lucky,” Tim looks away, turning back towards the sunrise, towards what once was Drake Manor, filled with ghosts from the past. “I don’t feel lucky at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass… well, Cass doesn’t know what to say, which actually is not uncommon either, because no amount of words could fix the sheer hurt radiating from her brother’s body as he curls in on himself and rocks back and forth on a rooftop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So she shifts closer to him until they are side by side and pulls him into a hug, because her first language is touch and touch speaks so much louder than words ever will.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Words are filled with bitterness and empty promises, hollow praise and false truths, but touch is different. Touch never lies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Words can promise that someone will be there, that they will not be alone, but promises can be broken, shattered, crushing hopes and dreams and a child’s fragile, delicate heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as long as she is touching Tim, as long as there is touch, they know that they are not alone, because there is someone right there next to them, another human being, alive and warm and solid against them.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <b>V: Damian</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass does not really know how to act around Damian. None of them do. Dick does a good job, yes, but Dick doesn’t know either - he’s just pretending he does. He may be a good actor, but body language does not lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass does not really know how to treat the boy who grew up so much like her, with blood on his hands and scars crisscrossing his knuckles and limbs and body and surrounded by a world of pain, but no affection. No love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She supposes a good place to start would be to show him what he - what they - had missed when they were younger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there comes a day where she gets an opportunity, when Bruce and Tim are at a meeting, when Dick is on duty, when Jason has gone off on his own, when Duke is patrolling, Steph is studying for exams, and Alfred is out getting groceries. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass is not surprised when he approaches her. After all, they are the only two people in the house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She simply leans back on the couch, watching the actors of some movie pretend to be someone else. It’s so obvious that they’re faking it, at least to her. Cass isn’t sure how anyone could think otherwise, but then again, not everyone was raised like her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or Damian.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think Mother loved me?” He asks quietly, out of the blue, and his body is open, vulnerable, just like that of a child’s, because, Cass suddenly remembers, that’s exactly what he is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damian, despite his attitude, despite the blood on his hands that will never wash off and the scars all over his body, is still just a child who wants approval from his parents. Just like she once was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And his question, well, that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Did Talia love Damian? Did parents who loved their children do the things that Damian’s mother had done to him? (Did David Cain love her at all if he’d done all those things, those terrible things that would never fade from her mind to her?)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Cass says finally, words still feeling foreign on her tongue even after all this time. Just another permanent mark of David’s influence. “She loved you.” Because Cass was like Damian, once, just another child who wanted their parent’s attention, love, affection. And maybe Talia did love Damian, she just did not know how to express it properly. (Maybe David loved her-)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damian looks down, sadness seeping out of every pore of his small body as he turns over his scarred hands, studying them. “Sometimes, it feels like she didn’t,” He admits. “Normal mothers do not send their sons into the wilderness on their fourth birthday and tell them to survive for two weeks on their own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass gently takes the boy’s smaller hands in her own, both pairs covered in pale lines and dripping red that will never come off. “Normal fathers do not shoot daughters and call it a game,” She laughs exactly once, barely even making a sound, and it comes out more broken, more bitter, than she intends for it to be. “But we…” All words leave her mind for a moment, and she takes a deep breath in before continuing. “We are not normal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Their games were never fun,” Damian whispers, like he’s telling her a secret and is afraid someone else will overhear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass pulls the boy in closer and lets him curl into her side, still lightly tracing the lines of his hands with one of her own, and exhales through her nose, a long and drawn-out sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, they were not,” She says softly, as the actors on screen pretend to care, pretend to feel, pretend to love one another, while inside, they are stiff, unfeeling, uncaring, unflinching. “No, they were not.”</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <b>VI: Duke</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arkham breakouts were stressful times for everyone in the family, all of them skipping out on sleep and meals to tirelessly track down the inmates and try and foil their plans before they came to fruition.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it didn’t always work, and they didn’t always manage to stop them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And today, they had faced the consequences, only barely managing to disarm the six bombs filled with Joker gas around the city before they went off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They saved the entire city, except for one bank, which was full of cackling laughter, the dead being carted out with smiles permanently frozen onto their faces while the survivors’ shoulders jerk as each cackle is painfully ripped from their throats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone returns home with tortured laughter ringing in their ears and the burden of the people they failed to save making the weight on their shoulders even heavier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cass has a feeling that none of them will be getting much sleep tonight, and she does not even bother trying, instead wandering down the halls of the Manor, past picture after picture and painting after painting and door after door until she stops at one that has too much light filtering out from the cracks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her right hand comes up to tap lightly on the wood, once, twice, three times, and then a voice calls “Come in,” so she does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Duke is sitting on his bed, a photo in his hands of his parents (because no matter what blood declared, Doug was the father that watched Duke grow up, not Gnomon,) who have easy, genuinely happy smiles on their faces that were not put there by Joker gas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The source of all the light is Duke himself. He’s glowing, the bright light pulsing in the same rhythm that a heartbeat would, as his dark fingers trace over his parents’ outlines, as if doing so can restore that version of them back to life. As if doing so can bring back their sanity, their</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks up at her, away from the picture, and the glow fades until the room is only lit by a single bedside lamp again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No words are passed between them as Cass moves to his desk, picking up the notebook full of poetry, only one of many, and hands it to him, sitting down on the bed beside him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Poetry was made up of words, woven together to form vivid images, thoughts, and feelings. Cass didn’t really care for the words, not the way Duke did. She cared about the speaker, the emotions running through their body as they brought their creations to life. To her, the body conveyed those images, thoughts, and feelings in a way that words never could, but for both of them, it is comforting when Duke reads.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Read,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she signs to him, and Duke nods, opening the notebook to the first page. The warm glow from the lamp dims as he pulls shadows from the room around them, blocking out the world with one dark blanket, and when they are surrounded by peaceful pitch-black darkness, he begins to read.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations./Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies/like a snowflake falling on water…”</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <b>+1: Cass</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The telltale </span>
  <em>
    <span>hiss</span>
  </em>
  <span> of fear gas fills the library, barely heard over Scarecrow’s laughter, but that is enough for all the bats to immediately secure gas masks over their faces before diving right back into the fight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Black Bat slides out from underneath two henchmen, letting them crash into each other, and sweeps the legs out from underneath a third when she hears a tiny, muffled whimper from underneath one of the tables.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a little girl who cannot be more than six years old huddled underneath the sturdy wooden table with her shirt over her nose, but shirts cannot hold off fear toxin for long. Black Bat remembers being that age, wide-eyed and innocent, yet already with so much blood on her hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A split second is all it takes for her to make her decision. She sucks in one last breath of clean air before ripping her gas mask off and firmly fixing it to the little girl’s face, picking her up and sprinting full-force for the exit, where Batgirl is covering the other occupants of the library as they flee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Batgirl’s eyes widen when she sees her, and she moves to take off her own mask, but Black Bat shakes her head, already feeling the gas’ effects in her head as she hands the girl over to Batgirl. “Go. It’s too late.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Black Bat,” Batgirl begins, but Black Bat shakes her again, more frantically this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Batgirl turns and runs, the little girl safe in her arms, and Black Bat turns to run too, away from the fight, away from other people, weaving through the bookshelves and plowing through henchmen until the library fades out and she’s back in that place with Him standing over her, Him with his gun pressed to her skin as he pulls the trigger, Him with his weapons as he teaches her not to fail, and she screams and screams and screams, but nothing comes out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--o0o--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is constantly moving, fighting and ducking and dodging before the oddly-dressed people can ever land a hit, but for some reason, it is like they are not even trying to hurt her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why are they not trying to hurt her? Everyone she fights tries to hurt her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sends the sword flying out of the smallest one’s hold with a single kick even though he showed no signs that he planned to use it, despite the grip that told her he not only knew how to, but was very familiar with one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The one with the blue on his chest steps forward, dropping his sticks and raising his hands up, and everything about him screams that he does not want to fight. Does not want to hurt her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that confuses her, and when she is confused, she fights, and so the blue one is sent stumbling back as he barely manages to block her blows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The others make eye contact for a moment and flash a hand signal between themselves, but she knows that signal even if she doesn’t know how she knows, and she knows what they’re about to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is almost too easy to take them all down, but when she moves over to the strongest one, the man in black with the weird pointy hat, to do the thing that always made Him smile, the thing that always stole the light from their eyes, she finds that she cannot do it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands are dripping in red, she realizes. So, so much red.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The feelings that this realization brings make her want to fight herself, because she does not know what they are, only how they make her feel, and they are making her feel bad. She doesn’t want to feel bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is so distracted by the red that covers her hands that she does not notice the needle in her neck until someone has already pressed the plunger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--o0o--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slowly opens her eyes, blinking a little as they adjust to the shift in lighting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a hand on hers. The size of the hand and the mop of dark hair flopped onto the side of the bed tell her that it is Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squeezes his hand once, and Dick flies awake with a small snort, brightening when he sees her looking back at him. “Cass! You’re awake!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hi,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she signs with her free hand.</span>
  <em>
    <span> What happened?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows the basics of what happened. They both know that. The question really means </span>
  <em>
    <span>who did I hurt?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re all okay,” Dick says gently. “A little sore, yeah, but nothing more than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The relief that washes over her face must be obvious. Cass was trained to be a living, breathing weapon. Fear toxin brought out the worst in her, and she hated hurting her family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want me to go get them?” Dick asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she signs. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Dick’s word or his body language, but that part of her that was affected by the toxin still whispered that she was a monster, a killer, and she just needed to see them to make sure that they were living, breathing people, and not cold, limp bodies at her feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick nods and pulls out his phone, sending a message into what must be their group chat, because moments later, the door bursts open and all her siblings are pouring into the room, even Jason, who is half-heartedly resisting being dragged along by Steph.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim immediately climbs onto the bed and curls into her side, his body pressing against hers, a steady message of </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steph, Duke, and Dick join them soon after, and with a little motioning from Dick, Damian climbs on top of the rapidly growing pile of siblings as well. Cass huffs a short laugh as someone shifts and she narrowly avoids an elbow to the head as Tim gives a squawk of protest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is only Jason left now - all the others are piled on top of each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jay,” Dick begins, but Jason shakes his head, arms crossed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope. I’m not doing it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Awwwww, come on, Jason!” Steph whines from somewhere off to Cass’ left. The sound is muffled by at least one person’s body. “Please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not going to happen,” Jason says firmly. “I’m not going to join your… whatever this is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cuddle pile,” Cass does her best to poke her head out from underneath her other siblings to look at Jason. “Please, little brother?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His resolve lasts for a whole two more seconds before it breaks. “Fine,” Jason acquiesces, a slow smirk spreading across his face. Cass has an idea of what is about to happen, but it is evident that none of the others do, and she is pinned underneath too many of them to make an escape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jason backs up as far as he can, which is a considerable distance thanks to the size of the Manor’s bedrooms, and takes a running start, charging forward and leaping onto the top of their cuddle pile. The mattress buckles underneath all the sudden added weight, and everyone lets out a collective </span>
  <em>
    <span>oof</span>
  </em>
  <span> as 230 pound of solid muscle slams into them from above.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat passes. Then another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then they are all bursting into laughter once the initial shock of Jason’s landing wears off, their bodies shaking with the force. Every single person has a different, unique laugh - Cass can hear Dick, his sound warm and high, Steph with her mischievous cackles, Duke’s bright laughter, Tim’s quiet giggles, Damian’s amused huffs, and even Jason is laughing, a hoarse sort of sound that suggests he does not do it often.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Cass? Cass laughs too, with sincere and genuine happiness, because she is here. She is surrounded by her siblings, and she knows that they’ll always be there for her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, there were days when shoulders sagged with the weight of memories, when wild eyes searched for ghosts in the halls, when their limbs felt the phantom pains of the wounds where their scars now stood. But they had each other, and that made it alright. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They may be damaged, broken, cracked, but they were mending their cracks. Healing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And as Cass feels the space around her shake with the sound of joy, she thinks that it’s going to be alright. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re all going to be okay.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>...happy endings make me cringe o_0</p>
<p>come find me on <a href="m3owww.tumblr.com">tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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